


The Snake and The Virgin

by Mimizu_Kayama



Series: The Obsession of a Mastermind [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Abuse, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Crying Sherlock Holmes, Drug Use, F/M, Family Issues, Kidnapping, M/M, Masturbation, Mommy Issues, One-Sided Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rape/Non-con Elements, References to Marvel Ultimates, References to Psycho, Sexual Abuse, Sherlock Whump, Triggers, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-05-05 21:40:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14627574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mimizu_Kayama/pseuds/Mimizu_Kayama
Summary: Sherlock only went out to get nicotine patches. Things did not go as planned. He learns of Moriarty's resurrection and exactly what the criminal wants to do to him... The question is, how many lives will be taken by Sherlock's mistakes, will anyone ever find him, will he ever see John or Molly again, and will he give in to Moriarty's abuses?





	1. The Kidnapping

He had just gone out to buy some nicotine patches. that was all he was doing. But fate had other plans.

Sherlock, of course, had to leave without notifying anyone as to where he was going, John was at the clinic and Sherlock avoided, skillfully, all of his brother, Mycroft’s, cameras and cronies. He had to if he wanted the patches. He knew a small convenience store six blocks away from Baker Street that was out of Mycroft's vision, and they sold good , if not the best, patches.

He was walking slowly to the store, in no rush, and breathing in the crisp air of his city, London. He made mental exercise of deducing those he passed on the sidewalk. 

Widowed three children, alcoholic. 

Mormon, married to three women, owns a Australian Shepard and a guinea pig. 

Single, alcohol/drug/sex addict...carrying a gun. 

Sherlock had just passed the last man he deduced when he realised the stranger was potentially dangerous. He turned around but the gun carrier was gone...what? Then it happened so quickly he didn't have time to realize what was happening.

A gun fired behind him, from a .22 he was sure. A growling voice with breath smelling of cocaine and Bud Light came to Sherlock's ear saying, “Why, hello there, pretty,”. He felt an object (Fist? Pole? Brick?) collide with his head and he was put into a blind state of concussion confusion. Then a sharp stinging his neck, followed by the semi-euphoric sensation coursing through his veins. His brain was turned off, lying dormant, unused….it was awfull.

Sherlock closed his eyes and he knew no more. 

\--ooooo00000OOOOO00000ooooo--  
When Sherlock opened his eyes, he still felt the numbness in his mind, blocking out all of his deductive reasoning and thoughts. He was in his bed...no a bed not his own. He wearily opened his eyes and rubber the sleep off. Where was he?

The entire room was spinning and blurred and he sat up his vision was definitely not improved.He moaned from the pain, this...this was terrible, why couldn't he think? How did he get here? Where was here? Is this what all those helpless normal people feel like on a daily basis?

Just when his eyes where adjusting and he could see better, light flooded the room.It wasn't especially bright, but to him itodas like the Pearly Gates had opened and the Archangel was ascending. He covered his eyes, protecting his vision and now sensitive head.

The light was quickly discontinued, and Sherlock heard a man speaking to him, “I’m so sorry, darling. If I had known you were awake I would have turned the lights off. Oh, they gave you a generous dose? I'm soooo sorry, love.”

The...the voice. That snake like, sinister, scheming, diabolical voice. Their he had last heard five years ago…no. He wasn’t, he couldn’t…

Sherlock put his hands in front of him, not knowing where the voice was coming from due to his loss of full sight, “M-M-Moriarty…?”

Sherlock felt someone sit beside him on the plush bed, and the chill hands of an enemy wrap around him, cradling him like a child. And the unmistakable sound of James Moriarty's voice, talked softly, “Sherlock, there's no need to be so formal… I want you to call me Jim...or Master if you like.”

“Y-your dead! I s-saw you sh-shoot yourself, how-,”

Sherlock’s mind was beginning to clear now but gradually.

“Even under the influence of drugs, your still sparkling!” Moriarty said as though Sherlock was a pet he was praising,”Sherlock, you really thought I would kill myself when of was clear you had no intention of jumping off that building? Besides, I didn't want you to die, love, your simply to gorgeous to kill… but Reichenbach was rather fun, dear.”

Moriarty wasn’t dead? He didn't want to kill Sherlock? What? Sherlock groaned when his brain sent a dumbing, unintelligible wave of a pulse through his body...he felt so ordinary. He relied on his mind for everything, and now it was like a useless muscle.

Moriarty made Sherlock lay down, the detective to weak in mind to fight the criminal. Moriarty leaned over Sherlock, brushing the man's curly locks off of his face, and petting the sick man in a comforting manner. Moriarty laid down next to Sherlock, keeping him in his grasp.

“Sherly, I’m sorry they gave you so much, they will pay...for know, my love, just rest. When you wake up you’ll be good as new...I promise…”

\--ooooo00000OOOOO00000ooooo--  
The second time Sherlock woke up from his drugged trance, his first realization was that he could think again. His second realization was that something wet and disturbing was running up and down his neck. He looked to see what the thing was. It was Moriarty's lips.

Sherlock was terrified. He jumped away from his enemy, but was stopped by chains around his ankles, tying him to the bed. At least his hands were free.

“Oh goodie!” Moriarty clapped, “Are you feeling better?”

Sherlock was still trying to get over the fact his arch nemesis was alive, and thriving, “What do you want?” he growled.

Moriarty's face dropped, “Sherly, answer my question…don’t be mean…”

Sherlock once more asked more forcefully, “Damn it, Moriarty, what the hell do you want?!?!”

The next moment Moriarty's hand flew toward him, a second away from slapping the detective’s cheek. But Sherlock reacted quickly and caught it.

Moriarty grinned, “I’ll take that as a yes?”

Sherlock was confused, “Yes?”

“That your feeling better, love.”

“Don't call me that.”

“What?”

“Lo-” Sherlock began but stopped himself, “I don’t need to answer you! Once more, what-do-you-want?!?!”

Moriarty stood up from the bed, hovering around Sherlock like a vulture, “You know, I always thought you were wasted in London. With Scotland Yard. With John. You know, the idiots, the slow ones. You said it yourself, ‘You are me’. We should be on the same side, you and me. We could do great things.”

Sherlock laughed, “Is that what this? You, back from the dead, convincing me to join you army of evil? Your spider web?”

“Well, that’s about 45% of the answer you are looking for dearest. I wonder if you can guess the other 55%? Ohhh, I bet you can't! “ 

There was a crazy maniacal gleam in Moriarty's eyes that sent shivers up Sherlock's spine. But he kept his mask of cool, calm, and unconcerned boredom. He was a pro at that. He looked Moriarty straight in the eye, “Alright, I can't guess would you do the honors of telling me?”

Moriarty smiled and came closer to where Sherlock was sitting, chained to the bed. Sherlock felt disgusted at the look in Moriarty's eyes, a hunger, eagerness, and threatening glee that was sick and unnatural. No matter how much he wanted to scuttle away from this insane man, he stood his ground. 

“Why you are here is because…” Moriarty started, bringing his hand up to Sherlock's face and stroking his chin softly, “because...and I bet no one has said this to you before...I love you.”

It felt as though Sherlock's insides had collapsed. That was resulting. Even though Moriarty was obviously not actually in love with him, the thought of the consulting criminal lusting for him...for his body...was sickening. 

This was not what he had planned for the evening...was it still evening? Had he slept through the night?

God, all he wanted were some nicotine patches.

Moriarty continued, “Now I know I cannot expect you to love me back...yet...but you here with me, is a start, love.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “You know I could get out of here any time I wished, now that your drugs affects have gone and I have my mind back.”

“You could,” Moriarty said thoughtfully, “By the way, Sherly, did you enjoy my little concoction? I had it made just for you!”

“Ingenious. What was it?”

“I call it Jimlock. Get it? It’s our names put together-”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “I understand the reference.”

Moriarty smiled brightly, picking up an ominous riding crop that had been leaning on the wall, “Love, you know you like it. We were made for each other.”

Sherlock eyed the crop hesitantly, “As you, apparently, never cease to remind me-”

Moriarty cut him off, his smile gone and stone hard viciousness in his face, his voice raised in pitch,“You will not escape!!!!!!”

Sherlock smirked raising his eyebrows, “I could leave anytime.”

“Not if it means killing your friends.”

Sherlock's thoughts froze, he would have to tread carefully, “Haven't you used that threat on me before?”

“And it worked perfectly. Right now I have nine snipers out there, and ninet targets on the people you love most.”

Sherlock swallowed, he could put all of his friends at risk...not again. Nine targets…that would be...John, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft, Ma and Da, Euros, Irene...who was missing? No, Moriarty couldn't possibility know about...his feeling for… for…

As he began playing with the riding crop in his hand, Moriarty seemed to read his mind, “You didn't possibly think, you and Miss. Hooper would get passed me, now did you? I thought me and her dating would have been a clear sign, I wanted to burn you, love...but that was before I knew you, before I loved you…”

“But… on the roof…”

“Your wondering why I didn’t use her as leverage? Because I was saving her for this special moment. You would never want a scrape of harm to come to Molly. Would you really put her life in danger, instead of staying here with me?”

Sherlock’s mask of vacant calm was beginning to break. He cast his eyes downward in defeat “No.”

Sherlock's capture came closer, leaning forward so their faces were only half an inch apart, “I thought that might be your answer.” He leaned in, closing the barrier between them, pushing his mouth against the detective’s lips. 

Sherlock panicked. No, he didn't want this! His mind went on overdrive and he leapt as far away, as the chains would let him, from the man giving him an unwanted kiss. When he drew back, the riding crop Moriarty was holding lashed across his face, leaving a straight cut on his cheek, bleeding freely. And, damn it hurt!

Moriarty looked murderous, “Perhaps I haven't pain down the terms clear enough...each time you run from me, every time you disobey me, whenever he resist, I will kill one of your nine loved ones...I’ll start with your sister, then your dear Mummy, then Daddy…all one-by-one until I reach John and Molly...and it will all be your fault. You are in deep waters Sherlock Holmes, now which is it? Sink or swim?”

Sherlock's mask was shattered now. He bit his lip. God, for the first time in his life, he was utterly cornered and defenceless. Tears began to swell up in his eyes. No! Why was he crying, he couldn't cry, especially not in front of the resurrected Moriarty!!! Nevertheless, big, hot, salty tears flowed down his face, stinging on his cut face.

Moriarty knew he had won. He stroked the tears off of his prisoner's face, “There, there, love, it’s alright. One day you will be begging me to let you stay. I love you and soon, you will love me back...I promise.”

He pulled Sherlock near and the detective did not resist. Moriarty wrapped his arms around the thin delicate body and passionately kissed the soft pink lips, staring deep into the beautiful, sea blue eyes. He had waited for this for so long and now he had his lover. Sherlock was his now, body, mind, and soul. He was the luckiest man alive.

Sherlock did not resist and allowed Moriarty to pull him close like a lifeless rag doll. He was stuck here with a psychopath, lusting for him. He thought back to Baker Street, attempting to draw his thoughts away from his situation and escape into his mind. He thought to John, to Mycroft, to Molly, even Anderson. But nothing could avert the fact his enemy, James Moriarty. Was kissing him like a lover and slowly unbuttoning his shirt…


	2. At His Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is stubborn and Moriarty is obsessed.

When Sherlock awoke he did not open his eyes. He squeezed them shut tight, especially when he felt an arm wrapped around his shirtless torso. It was a nightmare, he told himself. He would wake up and the arm hugging him would be Molly or John’s hand, for he would only be comfortable laying with one of them, or better yet, the pressure he felt would just be a figment of his imagination. 

He opened one eyelid and saw a delicate white hand around him, uncalloused and rarely worked with bare. Not John’s hand, which was hard and warn from years of war and labour.

Please be Molly...please, please…

He turned to face the one and only James Moriarty, asleep, next to him. Oh, God. Even though he had deduced that his abduction had not been a fiction from a bad dream, he had still had a sliver of hope his situation was unreal. He looked at his uncovered chest, void of the white dress shirt he had been wearing, and then reached, alarmed, into his trousers, looking for at any signs of sex, but, thank goodness, there were none. He breathed a deep breath of relief.

He looked around the room more closely, with Moriarty's arm still embracing him. There had to be an escape route. There were stairs leading up to a door, so he was in a basement or cellar then. Moriarty hardly seemed the person to keep a guard at a door or even to live with those he worked with unless they were very close...unless this wasn’t his house...but the probability pointed to the theory that it was. If Sherlock could get a hold of a bobby pin or nail that he could pick the lock on the chain tying his ankle to the bed and steal some of that drug, Jimlock, and administer a heavy dose to his captor, then he would be out in no time. 

But he couldn't do that. Not at the expense of his few friends. Moriarty would wake up, and then he would he relize Sherlock was gone, then kill them all...unless...unless... He could...he could kill Moriarty…

Why not? After all this snake had done to him, surely it wouldn't be hard at all. The chain around his leg would make a fine strangling device.

But Sherlock couldn't do it, even if it was Moriarty. He had killed once before, and he could see that John, Molly, and Mycroft had all looked at him differently since Magnussen. Sherlock the murderer. If he killed another he might loose their friendship. He just couldn't kill ever again. He couldn’t bring himself to do it.

But he wouldn’t be stuck here forever. John, Lestrade, and Mycroft would find him. Of course, Mycroft was probably only miles away, minutes from saving him, hacking away at CCTV’s.Sherlock smiled at the thought that he would be rescued any moment now…

“Thinking about me, are you?”

Sherlock nearly jumped out of his skin, he had nearly forgotten Moriarty was right next to him. Bit he hid his surprise well.

“Excuse me?”

Moriarty grinned at the detective, hugging him tighter and resting his head on Sherlock's bare shoulder, “You were smiling, were thinking about me?”

“Yes , actually,” Sherlock replied with an icy tone, “I was imagining the look on your face when Mycroft and Lestrade rush in here any second and promptly take you to an insane asylum.”

“Oh, Sherly, you are thoughtful! Thanks for reminding me, love!”

“What?”

Without responding, Moriarty pulled out a phone, Sherlock's phone, and started texting. Sherlock looked over to see what he was doing and he saw Moriarty, posing as Sherlock, texting John.

Going out for milk.  
SH

Sherlock was almost in shock, “How do you know I say that when-”

But before Sherlock could finish his sentence, John replied.

Sherlock, whenever you say you're  
“going out for milk” it means you will  
disappear to Egypt or something for  
like three months.  
JW

Moriarty waited for a few minutes before answering,

Just going to get milk. I promise.  
SH

Sherlock saw what Moriarty was doing. He was applying Sherlock’s social, or non-social, habits to the texts so he could accurately pose as him.

“Now that your pet has been felt with, time to call big brother!” Moriarty said, slightly giddy, scrolling through Sherlock's contacts until he found Mycroft.

“Mycroft will detect it’s only you imitating my voice. We grew up together, we know when it is one of us talking.”

“Oh, no, I’m not talking to big brother, dear. You are,” Moriarty passed the phone to Sherlock.

Sherlock hesitantly took the phone from Moriarty. But instead of calling his brother, he quickly switched the contact and called John He didnt care what Moriarty might do to him, this might be his only chance to make someone aware of his situation.

The phone gave four rings until his flatmate picked up, “Hey, Sherlock. So what country are you in now? You really should stop the ‘getting milk’ thing-”

“Oh, hello, Mycroft,” pretending to talk to Mycroft so Moriarty would (hopefully) not catch on.

“Sherlock...this isn’t Mycroft, it’s John…”

“Of, course, brother dearest, I am fine.”

“Sherlock what’s going on?”

“No, Mycroft, it’s just I am going out of the country and I need to make sure you and John don’t come after me. I might be gone for awhile.”

“Sherlock are you alright? This John...”

“No, I just told John I was going to get milk.”

“Sherlock are you okay?”

“Of course, it has nothing to do with the Vatican cameos, brother.”

“Oh! Where are you? What is going on? Sherlock, should I tell Mycroft?”

“Yes, of course, you should. Now stop being so nosy, My-cake, and do not follow me. Good day.”

“Sherlo-”

And with that he hung up. 

“Well done, Sherlock! Well done!” Moriarty said, ecstatic, “You are a good actor! Maybe even twice as good as Benedict Cumberbatch!”

“Who-?”

“But...I’m going to need that, phone back, dear.”

Sherlock passed the phone over, thinking do not look at phone history, do not look at phone history…

And thank the good Lord he didn’t.

Moriarty pocketed the phone and stood up stretching luxuriously. When he was done he turned back to Sherlock, “Oh, I’m sooooooo sorry, love. I nearly forgot about that dreadful chain. Give me a sec.”

Sherlock expected Moriarty to go to a secret hiding place to retrieve the key to his ankle chain but instead Moriarty reached in to his trouser pockets and pulled out a shiny silver key. Sherlock growled, mentally ridiculing his stupidity. His means of escape had been inches away! In Moriarty's pocket! The whole time! He fumed. This man was unpredictable.

Moriarty pulled down the covers to reach Sherlocks leg. Instead of just unlocking the chain, he gently stroked Sherlock's leg. Sherlock jerked his lower limb back in disgusted protest, a shot of pain from the tight chain coursing through his muscles.

Moriarty gave him a disappointed, yet amused look, “Now, Sherly, really? You know what I am going to have to do now. You disobeyed me sweetheart, and that is against the rules,” He took out his own phone this time and scrolled through his contacts. Sherlock could see some of the names;

Jawny-Boy  
Mikey H  
Rust Bucket Man  
The Woman  
SO Sherly  
Nick Furry

Moriarty clicked on the contact labeled Tiger. Now, that nickname was ominous. Moriarty started texting “Seb”. He began writing a word. He typed in E…then a U...

Oh shit. Sherlock's brain panicked. He was writing Eurus’s name! He was giving an alert to“Tiger” to kill her because Sherlock resisted. Moriarty was insane!

“Moriarty! Stop wait!” Sherlock yelled, enraged.

Moriarty looked at him, a mad glimmer in his smile. He typed in an R next ignoring Sherlock and brandishing the phone teasingly in his face, “Say please.”

Sherlock's brows furrowed. How dare he? No, he couldn't give in. He just couldn't. If he did, he would be giving Moriarty his dignity and pride on a silver platter. 

But when Moriarty pressed the U button, Sherlock forgot his resolution and broke, “Please! Please, stop! Moriarty!”

Moriarty seemed to be considering him, “Hmmmm...no. But thanks for being so nice.”

The last letter, S was typed in and Moriarty reached for the SEND key, but then…

“Please...Jim!” Moriarty stopped and looked at the emotional Sherlock. This was becoming deliciously interesting.

“...say, that again, love.”

“Please?”

“No...my name.”

Sherlock gulped, “Please, J-Jim.”

Moriarty purred, “Mmmm...once more.”

Sherlock cast his eyes downward. He hated this. Being at someone else's mercy. He had messed up and gotten sentimental, and now this was happening. He should have listened to Mycroft. “Sentiment is not an asset, brother. It is always found on the losing side.” Now, now, Sherlock was losing. 

“Jim.” He complied, not meeting the Irishman's eyes.

Moriarty smiled. He came forward and caressed Sherlock's face, pushing his body to Sherlock's, erection building up in his cock. He made Sherlock lay down, then he started taking off his own trousers.

He put his hand that held the phone behind his back and sent the word EURUS to “Tiger”.

-ooooo00000OOOOO00000ooooo-

Sebastian Moran’s was at Sherrinford, watching and waiting, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He smiled when he saw Jim’s name. The word EURUS popped on to the screen. Thank you, Jim, you saint. He cocked his gun. He had been getting impatient. Jim always assigned him the best jobs.


	3. Your Life Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moriarty takes what he wants

THIS IS EXPLICIT AND FOR MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY!!! READ THIS AT YOUR OWN RISK!!! TRIGGER WARNINGS OF RAPE AND PHYSICAL AND SEXUAL ABUSE!!! DON’T LIKE, DON'T READ!!!  
***************************************************************

Moriarty started to remove his trousers, much to the alarmed Sherlock’s fright. Moriarty tossed his phone over his shoulder and began removing the rest of his clothing. Sherlock writhed helplessly beneath him. He knew he couldn't make Moriarty angry, but he was still not going down without a fight.

“Sherlock, you are squimish!” Moriarty chuckled, wearing nothing but his pants. 

“Get…the hell off of me!” Sherlock yelled in a hot fury, scratching at the other man’s face.

Jim smiled. He wouldn't tell the detective, but the pale skinned brunette, fighting him, scratching his face, and shouting abuse, was incredibly hot. Jim was more aroused every second that whent by. Sherlock's exposed chest was nearly hairless, and his waist was thin and underfed. The white skin was almost flawless except for a bruise or scare here and there from a case. 

“Tut, tut, Sherly. You need to take better care of yourself,” Jim said running his fingers over some of the fresher cuts, “A pretty girl like you should take pride in her body.”

Sherlock continued to struggle, “Not….a….girl!”

Sherlock was making Jim so erotic, but the man beneath him would not hold still! How was he supposed to make love to Sherly if he was constantly having to pin him down with all his force?

“Keep still!”

“No!”

Moriarty got off of Sherlock and reached down to the phone laying on the floor. He dialed Seb and put him on speaker. It hurt him, but he needed to show his love what was really at stake.

“Jim?” The gruff voice at the other end said.

Sherlock, who was panting after his efforts to keep Moriarty off him, stopped to listen.

“Helllllllooooo, Seb! You havn’t done it yet have you?” Jim winked at Sherlock.

“I was just getting ready to take the shot...you aren’t changing plans on me are you? You know I have been looking forward to this…”

“Not at all! No, we want to hear the shot of the bullet that will kill Eurus Holmes.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened. He looked at Moriarty, “No, you said...I promise I will stop, please, just, please...Jim, Jim…”

Seb said from the phone, a frown audible in his voice, “Jim, who’s with you? Who is ‘we’?”

“Someone you are dying to meet! You’ll see him tonight, Seb. But just take the shot.”

“No!” Sherlock said crawling as close to the criminal as he could, “Jim, please, I am yours. Do with me what you will, but Eurus, leave her alone. She isn't apart of this. She is sick in her mind but, please, I am begging you...let my sister live. I am at..I am at your mercy. I am your slave. Just...please…”

Sherlock had never begged. He hated it. He hated anyone having more power over him, hated situations that were out of his hands. But he cared about Eurus. She didn't deserve to die. Not more than three seconds passed after Sherlock’s show of submission, did a single, ear splitting, BANG ring from the phone.

“No!!!!” Sherlock gasped and covered his face with his hands, tears unwillfully springing to his eyes. Eurus...she was...she was dead. Shot. Murdered. All because he had to fight Moriarty. He had known the penalties, but did he listen? No. Why did he have to be such a stubborn ass hole? He should have just layed back and allowed Moriarty to take what he obviously wanted. His virginity.

A small, salty, pearl of water appeared in the corner of the kidnapped man’s eye, “Eurus...you...you killed her. You killed her, you bitch!!!”

Moriarty spread out his hands, “You think I killed her? Sherlock! You should know better than anyone, you killed your sister! Now what were you saying? Something like...you being my slave? I like that choice of words.”

Sherlock glared. He would have argued back, but his actions had just killed his sister. One wrong move and his Da was next, according to Moriarty.

“Are you ready...Virgin?”

Sherlock took a deep breath, then laid back down on the bed. Moriarty came forward, his eyes looking Sherlock up and down. His eyes wandered to the naughtiest places. He licked his lips in anticipation.

The criminal crawled on top of his prisoner, “Sherly, you have no idea how long I have waited for this. To push my cock in your little virgin arse. To fuck you senseless. To love you so hard you bleed. Oh, you are going to bleed so much you’ll pass out, and I won’t even stop there…”

As Moriarty finished undressing himself and his prey, he felt Sherlock shaking violently. He was scared stiff. Moriarty wondered why...but that was a matter for later. He needed to give Sherlock, beautiful, pure, and precious Sherlock, the love he deserved. Moriarty wanted to taint this figure of purity, to feel him crying beneath him, admitting to Moriarty that he had won, that Sherlock was his. In Moriarty’s sick mindSherlock belonged to Jim, always had been, always would be.

Sherlock, on the other hand, was looking at Moriarty for the first time, not with hate, but with fear. There was a reason he had stayed away from sex all his life. It was dangerous, it made humans into animals, it made people do things they would never do if they were in their right minds. Sherlock never, ever, ever, wanted to participate in such a mind dulling and logic ripping activity. Especially with a man as corrupted as James Moriarty, he wouldn't even do it with John or Molly if he had the choice. He loved John and Molly with ever bit of humanly sentiment he had in his soul, but sexual practice could turn good people into Philistines. He knew that from first hand experience. He had vowed to never have sex unless he knew he was desperatly in love with someone else and the other party shared the same emotion. But, of course, that would never happen in a million years.

He felt the soft, cunning touch of Moriarty turn him over, his face pressed down on the bed, totally open to Moriarty’s will. Moriarty did not, as Sherlock expected, violently violate him. Moriarty, instead, was rubbing a wet substance onto his backside (lubricant, he deduced without much thought), and massaging his skin as if he were a porcelain doll that was fragile to the slightest touch. 

He leaned over and gave Sherlock a kiss by his ear and whispered, “Take a deep breath, Virgin...this might hurt.” And with that short warning, he stuck two of his fingers into Sherlock.

Sherlock bit down on his lip until it was bloody. Out of all the pain, all the misery, all the shit, he had endured in his life, this was most definitely, the worst. Even with his previous encounter with sex, his “partner” had never actually penetrated him. And Moriarty had only used his fingers! What was the real thing going yo be like? He couldn't help but let out a yelp when, without warning, Moriarty managed to wiggle another figure in.

“Oops,” the man on top of him giggled, making Sherlock want to be sick, “Sorry, my love, it is just you are sooooooo tight! I don't want it to feel that bad…,” soon Moriarty's tone changed, “But then again we can't have you too loose….can we…?” 

Moriarty’s voice fell down to mutters, he whispering to himself on top of the detective, his fingers still onside, moving occasionally. Sherlock strained his ears to hear what he was saying. 

Moriarty was, in fact, arguing with himself, “But he doesn't want this...No, of course he does...Does it matter? He is so damn beautiful. Who wouldn't want to fuck him?...But I don't want to hurt him, he is like a doll...He can take our love!...What the hell are we waiting for?!?! Let’s just do it!!!!” And without any warning, or preparation on Sherlock’s part, Moriarty smirked, quickly removed his fingers and shoved his fairly large cock right into Sherlock. 

Sherlock yelled loudly in pain. His backside was burning, stretched beyond what it could handle. The searing gain in his bum felt like there was an internal fire, burning him from the oncide. Sherlock bit down his own hand to stop his noises, drawing blood, and the puncture marks eventually stinging from the tears that were landing on them, dripping helplessly down the detective’s cheeks. Moriarty was pulling in and out of him at no particular rythum, leaving Sherlock with no way to anticipate and prepare himself for the invasion. This was beyond a nightmare. It was a living hell. No, who said he was alive? He had to be dead to receive this kind of punishment.

“God, you are so tight! So tight and so gorgeouse!” Moriarty groaned out, full of pleasure.

Unwanted tears continued to trail down Sherlock's face even more now. He was being raped. He was being raped by the worst man alive. He was being raped by Jim Moriarty. Why? Why?! Why?!?! Out of everyone on earth, Moriarty decided he was the one he wanted to put his filthy cock in. If it was an act of hate and revenge, Moriarty would have gotten straight to fucking, instead of caressing him in the way he had or using lube. Maybe he was just a serial rapist as a side hobby...no, the man didn't like to get his hands dirty, or give anyone any proof he had done anything wrong. Unless he wanted to get caught... Yes! This must be him telling the rest of the world Hey, I am still alive, bitches, and I fucked Sherlock Holmes! Yes, that was a perfectly sound conclusion.

He was interrupted by Moriarty pulling all the way out of him, then pushing him a little up, his knees bent on the mattress and his ass up in the air. His head was now able to see his rapist slightly. Sherlock mustered up a glare, but it came out as more of a plea. Moriarty merely smirked, the same ominous tinge in the stare. He grabbed his own hard cock and started pumping it. The villain moaned and his eyes glazed over as he pleasured himself. One hand was holding Sherlock's waist, and his eyes were fixated on Sherlock.

“Move,” he said both lustful and forceful.

Sherlock was confused, his mind obviously trying to both face and escape the scenario, “What?”

“Move!” Moriarty shouted impatient.

Sherlock got the hint, understanding what Moriarty was saying. He swayed his buttocks a little, unsure and uterally embarrassed and angry. At the first movement of his hips, Moriarty's breathing rate increased.

Sherlock realized Moriarty was masturbating.

Although Sherlock had never done the act before, he had read about it and studied the human capability to treat oneself. He had always thought it disgusting, even though he knew there was nothing wrong with it. It was just not for him. But yet here he was, his enemy masturbating to the sight of his body. Ugh.

Sherlock tried to think of how what he was doing was keeping his parents, brother, and friends from Moriarty’s hand. He had already failed Eurus, he was not doing that again. And, he thought, this was only transport. His virginity had been a mere fact, not a sacred prize. His mind was his own, and that was all he needed.

But deep down, he knew what he was telling himself while the mother fucker was fucking him, was all a lie. His actions might not even keep Moriarty from his loved ones, in fact they could be dead at this moment. He had indeed failed Eurus, but he knew that if he did anything Moriarty didn't like, he would almost definitely fail someone else. And his body was not just transport, and his virginity was not just a minor part of him. No, he was saving himself for someone he loved and for someone who loved him back (Though he knew the chances of that were slim, he had excepted the fact that no one would ever, ever love him in a romantic way long ago). And furthermore, he knew that if Moriarty wanted it, the villian would manage to penetrate his mind, one way or another.

The touch, smell, sound, taste, and sight of unwanted sex filled his senses all night long, Moriarty throwing demands as to what he wanted Sherlock to do and forever whispering into his ear, “Give up the struggle, dearest, this is your whole existence now. You are mine...I am your life now.”


	4. Follow Me, Sherlock

“Good morning, my darling.”

That was possibly the worst sound in the world. Falling asleep in the bed shared with your enemy after a night of forced sex with said person, and waking up to their mocking tone whispering on your ear and kissing the nape of your neck. That was exactly what Moriarty was doing to Sherlock.

When Sherlock didn't respond, too tired and sore from the unpleasant exertion, James nudged him a little, “Come on, love...I've got a ton of things I want to show you!”

Sherlock hearing James’s voice and the command, did his best to sit up, but became dizzy at the movement. James noticed and said, feeling Sherlock’s forehead, “Just take your time, Sherlock… I know it is tough after your first go...but you'll feel better once we do this again, you'll get used to it...you'll enjoy it, I promise. “

That made Sherlock wake up. Again?!?! This wasn't a one time thing, not Moriarty's big announcement to Europe that he was still not dead?!?! What the hell did he actually want?!?! Sherlock groaned, this was an utter horror.

James came to his side, with a hot washcloth in his hand, which he pressed up against Sherlock’s neck, “I'm sorry he was so rough last night...Jim can be a little pushy, huh?”

Wait...what? What the hell was he talking about? Moriarty was talking about himself in the third person. Why…? Unless…

Of course! It was so blindingly obvious! The abnormal emotional changes, the talking and arguing with himself last night, the third person speech. This wasn't Jim he was talking to… it was James. Moriarty had multiple personalities, didn't he? Now that the thought had occurred to Sherlock it was clear as day. There were two sides of Moriarty, Jim and James. Jim had been the one that furiously raped him, the one that was pleasured by his pain. What was this James like?

James pulled Sherlock into a tight but gentle hug from behind. Sherlock flinched at the contact. James dug his head in to the crevice of the detective’s shoulder, kissing the exposed skin and sucking down on it.

Sherlock gasped at this unexpected action, and looked at James as he put his head up, eyes sparkling with unknown glee. Jim was definitely more unnerving and insane then James that was for sure, but James was still crazy in his own way. To Sherlock’s relief, James pulled away and stood up, starting to pull his clothes on. Sherlock tried to stand up and follow suit, picking up his own garments from the floor where they had been carelessly tossed, but James stopped him.

“Oh, no, Sherly,” he said giggling, “We wouldn't want you wearing those plain clothes, now would we? Not for someone as gorgeous as you.”

Sherlock did not know what this meant, not really caring at this point as long as he was given something to wear, a blanket would do even. He hated being so vulnerable, so exposed…but that was Moriarty's point wasn't it? To his relief, James handed him a pile of clothing. His relief was short lived however when he saw what exactly Jim wanted him to wear.

It was a dress. A woman's dress. A woman's red dress. A woman's red corset dress. There was no way in hell he was wearing that. When he looked up to protest, James was holding up his phone, wiggling it slightly. It was turned to the contact “Tiger”. That was the man, “ Seb”, who had murdered Euros. The thought of yesterday brought tears to his eyes, but he fought them and turned away.

The dress Moriarty had picked out looked like something right out of Irene Adler’s wardrobe. In fact it might just have been from that source. It had some see through lace at the top, then the red material going down the chest of the wearer into a black, tight, corset that ended around the waist. The lacy velvet then continued into a skirt, ruffled but short which would show his legs. Sherlock shuddered as he unlaced the stings in the back and stepped into the godey thing. Oh, great, it came with a collar too. 

Sherlock felt sick and disgusted at the feeling of both the garment and Moriarty's eyes taking in every little bit of him. He felt the chill hands brush his skin as James tightened the laces from behind. It was tight but not so tight he couldn't breath. But he still thought he might vomit or faint in this situation.

James walked in front of him, grabbing him around the corset and pulling him close. Sherlock did his best to look away, but James pulled his face closer. He put his hand up to Sherlock’s hair, touching and pulling it in places.

“Hmmm…” he muttered looking dreamily at Sherlock's dark curls, “I think we might want to grow those out...you would be so pretty...so, so pretty…”

James seemed to come back to earth, ad pulled away more business like, “Anyway, Sherly, I thought I might let you see your new home...that is, unless you would like to stay in the basement.”

Sherlock nodded, still keeping his mouth shut, afraid to say something wrong. Yes, dear God, he wanted to get out of this bloody basement, that held the stench of sweat, sex, and tears in the air. Out of this dirty place he had been raped and lost his virginity. 

“Come with me then!” James said, happily leading Sherlock to the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dress https://pin.it/pekh5sswoqiv2f
> 
> If you guys could comment on any dresses for future use should be worn, I would be more than happy for your input. I was thinking of trying…
> 
> -A crop top  
> -A French maid outfit
> 
> Sorry it was so short after such a long time! Will update next week or sooner!


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